


TLC

by achievewriting



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achievewriting/pseuds/achievewriting
Summary: You're sick, and Alfredo's here to help.





	TLC

**Author's Note:**

> [a song](https://open.spotify.com/track/0Tel1fmuCxEFV6wBLXsEdk?si=hFRyRhZdT8Gimr6_hD6UgA)

The sound of the door from downstairs jolts you from your almost-sleep. You hear keys hit the kitchen bench, followed by the soft clink of glassware and running water. Your agitation passes at the sound of Alfredo climbing the stairs. **  
**

You pull your duvet up higher around your face - you look like utter shit, even for a bad day. Half an attempt at getting the make-up off your face doesn’t do you any favours, and neither does the unwashed rat’s nest that is your hair. Alfredo has seen it all; from your head in a night club toilet, to your temporary existence as a post-tonsillectomy zombie, but today you just want to hide.

“What’s up, baby girl?”

You lift your chin slightly to address him through the sheets, “Doing my best to not to throw up, how ‘bout you?”

The bed sinks and shifts as he sits down behind you and places his glass of water on the nightstand. “Wasn’t just a headache this morning, huh?”

“Nope,” you sign. Despite your state, you smile as you feel his fingers comb through your hair, smoothing over the tangles and stroking your hairline the way he knows you love.

“Have you taken something?” His thumb makes a pass behind your ear and up to your temple, and you hum in approval.

“Yeah, babe, this is as good as it’s gonna get.” You hiccup, and the motion brings a small wave of nausea.

“Well, damn,” he says lightly. “Guess I’m just gonna have to make it better.”

Alfredo’s hand leaves your hair and you roll onto your back to claim it again, but he’s on his phone, smiling softly as he types.

“What’re you doing?”

He holds his phone up, “Smile for the camera!”

“Oh, god, no!” Giggling, you throw your hand in front of your face as the shutter goes off.

“Perfect.” He grins triumphantly as he shows you his Tweet. The picture of you, though only your hair splayed across the pillow is visible behind your out-of-focus hand, and the message ‘Sorry fam, no stream tonight! Gotta take care of this sick puppy.’

“But your subs, Fredo.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “They’ll live.”

“And I won’t?” you huff.

He smirks as his hand briefly returns to your hair, and leans in to kiss your forehead. “Not without a little bit of my TLC, girl.” He’s sing-songy, playful.

You laugh a little, your smile hidden and words muffled by the duvet, “Well, hell. Call me a cured woman.”

“Not yet.” He’s beaming down at you as he stands, and you can’t believe the glint of adoration you see as he takes a moment to gaze at the shitshow that is you. “Give me a minute, babe.”

You watch Alfredo take his glass to the bathroom and refill it before rustling around in the cabinet above the sink. He kicks his shoes off on his way back to your bed, and hands you the glass and some Nyquil. You take the medicine gladly, and stomach what water you can as Alfredo strips to his underwear. You have to take a moment to appreciate the truth in what they say about MeUndies, because  _goddamn_.

He catches you staring and raises a teasing eyebrow. “You sure you’re too sick to, y’know…?” He pumps his hips and bites his lip, the spitting image of sexy and ridiculous.

You laugh again, “Sorry Fredo, yeah, I’m sure.” Just the thought of what was usually one of your favourite pastimes made your stomach twist, and not pleasantly.

The dramatic pout he gives makes you smile more, and he’s grinning too as he climbs into bed next to you. You lift your head for his arm to rest under your neck, immediately pressing your face to the warm of his neck. He hooks a leg over your hip, and your leg finds a place between his own. It’s bliss, like coming home after a long time away. For a moment you lie there, nausea forgotten.

A moment is all you’re given before your stomach turns again. At the feeling, you curl in on yourself and press your forehead into Alfredo’s collarbone. Your eyes and mouth water and you bite your lip hard. After a few hard breaths through your gritted teeth, you relax. Immediately Alfredo is pressing kisses to your hair, your face, and rubbing small circles on the nape of your neck. You concentrate on the little hums and shushes he makes as your insides settle. When you return to the same discomfort you’ve been in all day, you lift your face to him.

Softly, with all the gentleness he knows you need, Alfredo brings his lips to yours. It’s a fleeting kiss, no more than a caress, but it’s rain on the roof on a Sunday morning, it’s honey and cream on oats, it’s sunshine and home and a lover’s searching fingertips. As you pull away, you bring your hand to rest on his cheek. “I love you so much.”

Deep chocolate in the evening sun through the curtains, his eyes grow hooded as he smiles and kisses you again, this time on your nose. “Love you too, Y/N. So much.”

Time passes, but you don’t know how much - you spend it dozing as Alfredo speaks softly about his day. A story one of the guys told him, or maybe a retelling of a twitter thread that made him think of you. You listen quietly, and when you tense and your breathing comes hard, he rubs small circles over your arms, your back, in your hair, until you relax into him once more. By the time it’s cold and dark, you’re both asleep


End file.
